


Reunited (and it feels so good)

by smut_fairy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smut_fairy/pseuds/smut_fairy
Summary: Six years apart. Six years of thinking Clarke had probably died, if not in the initial death wave, then certainly from lack of  supplies. Six years of grieving and trying to honor her memory and wondering how someone he'd known for such a small sliver of his life could have had such a huge impact on him, and here she sits beside him. Tucked under his arm as if she's never been anywhere else.-----aka, Bellamy makes it back to earth and he and Clarke get some time to themselves





	Reunited (and it feels so good)

Six years apart. Six years of thinking Clarke had probably died, if not in the initial death wave, then certainly from lack of  supplies. Six years of grieving and trying to honor her memory and wondering how someone he'd known for such a small sliver of his life could have had such a huge impact on him, and here she sits beside him. Tucked under his arm as if she's never been anywhere else.

Bellamy would feel self-conscious about the physical affection they've shown each other since Raven crash-landed them earlier that day, except he isn't fully aware of it. He'll look down and find her hand on his knee or his arm around her back or her head on his shoulder and it feels right. It feels less like the return of something he was missing - though he did miss her with a nearly constant, dull ache - and more like his heart has expanded to make room for her again, so natural and automatic it must be muscle memory.

Night falls and he holds her tighter, reminding himself that he's no longer on the ring, no longer mourning her and the earth and every dream he'd ever had for himself. He's on the ground, the woman he loves curled into his side, and it might finally be safe to dream again.

As if sensing the melancholy of his thoughts, Clarke nudges his side with her elbow. The flickering golden light from the fire brings warmth to her features that staves off the slight chill from the wind. He tightens his hold.

"Tired?" 

Hearing her speak makes his heart jump just like every other time in the past twelve hours. She told him she tried radioing him every day, that it kept her sane. Meanwhile, he was straining to remember what her voice sounded like.

"I haven't fully convinced myself I'm not already dreaming. If you told me right now the air really was toxic and all this is my dying hallucination, I'd believe it."

Clarke bites her lip and glances at Madi, who has fallen asleep with her head in Raven's lap, listening to bedtime stories of thermodynamics and the laws of motion. Raven catches her eye and waves the two of them off.

"You guys go ahead. The kid can bunk with me tonight."

"You sure?" Bellamy asks.

"The two of you need some time alone."

"Thanks Raven. We'll see you guys tomorrow, then." Clarke stands and offers him her hand. "Shall we?"

It's impossible for him not to meet her gaze, that unfathomable depth he could never stop staring into.

He takes her hand.

"Where to, Princess?"

"Only the nicest accommodations on the planet," she jokes, swinging their hands between them. He laughs when he sees where she's steering him.

"The rover?"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Bellamy."

He tenses his grip when she swings their hands backward, pulling her in so that she trips towards him. One of her hands braces itself on his chest and that's familiar, the brief, light weight of it just above his heart.

"I'm not complaining."

"You most definitely are."

He shakes his head and reaches with his free hand to tuck a strand of blonde away from her face. 

"I never even thought I'd get this much again," he says quietly, letting his fingers brush the skin behind her ear. She shivers, though not, he thinks, from the cold air. "My life is pretty close to perfect right now, rover or no rover."

Clarke swallows, her eyes locked with his. In their depths he can see some fear but he also sees something else. Something promising.

He tries not to read too much into it. He's already gotten her back from the dead today. One miracle is already more than he dared to hope for; to ask for another - that she might return his feelings - would be like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

But then she steps closer. Her hand comes up to cradle his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone before she trails the tips of her fingers down the curve of his jaw. A featherlight touch smooths the wrinkle on his brow, follows the ridge of his nose, the dimple in his chin. When she runs the pads of her fingers over his lips, he feels as if he's been carved from marble. Made to be studied at an artist's hand, sculpted for this moment alone.

"Clarke," he says, helpless.

She drags her gaze away from his lips to meet his eyes again.

"Bellamy."

It's little more than a breath, the sound of cicadas and a breeze in the trees swallowing it almost before it reaches his ears, but it's all he needs. He leans down, meeting her halfway as she steps into him.

The first touch of her lips is enough to quiet his mind. The kiss is gentle, her mouth soft and lax, as if she wants nothing more than simply to learn the feel of him. As if she's at peace.

The next touch is hungrier. She presses forward, deepening the kiss, her tongue flickering against the seam of his lips. He opens for her immediately, inviting her in. The sounds he coaxes out of her with every graze of his teeth, every gentle suck he gives her tongue, nearly undo him then and there. He chases after them, licking into her mouth like a man starved - which, after _six years_  might be precisely what he is - and letting it grow sloppy and wet.

Clarke's hand fists itself in his jacket, pulling him down further as she rocks backward onto her heels. He hadn't even realized she was up on her toes, and when his mind catches up, he lets go of her hand to wind both his arms around her waist, holding her tightly to him. He'd much rather hold her up than let her pull away.

She, for her part, seems to have no interest in pulling away. Her hand, now free, slides straight into his hair, strands wound tightly around her fingers. Too tight, for a brief moment, and it makes him moan.

"You like that?" She laughs, panting. Bellamy hums against her skin.

He can feel her pulse thrumming in time with his and he laves his tongue over it, works her skin between his teeth. It's a primal instinct, but he wants visible evidence of her heart pumping blood through her veins, of her vitality. That she's alive and somehow his.

Clarke's breath stutters but she pushes his head away before he can really settle in.

"No marks where Madi can see."

"Fair enough." He smirks. "Does this mean I have access to parts of you Madi can't see?"

He's expecting a sarcastic retort, or even that suggestive gleam in her eye, but instead her features go soft. She reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"You have every part of me," she tells him, releasing his shirt from her iron grip and flattening her hand over his heart. He raises one hand to hold onto it. When the lump in his throat is too much to speak around, he raises her hand to his lips, burying a kiss in her palm.

He, Bellamy Blake, can't find the words.

Of course, this being Clarke Griffin, she understands anyways.

She draws him back in and slants her mouth against his. They've barely been together for five full minutes and already they fit together perfectly. Like Bellamy always hoped they would.

"You also have access to my bed," she murmurs against his mouth. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but the bed opens up a lot more options for us."

He grins. "Lead the way, Princess. And then I want to hear about those options."

The rover's setup is cozier than Bellamy expected. Clarke and Madi have padded the hard metal with blankets and furs and who knows what else, creating what feels more like a nest than anything else. Clarke tosses a couple of the blankets into the front area, which still looks mostly like a car.

"It gets heavy to carry all these blankets down to the stream," she says defensively when he gives her a questioning look. "Also I'd feel weird getting laid on my sort-of-daughter's bed."

"Getting laid, huh?"

"No, sorry, I only invited you back to have rousing _conversation_ ," she teases.

She looks so pleased with her own comeback, so beautiful in the moonlight, so well-kissed, he can't help but lean over and kiss her again. Rather than meeting him halfway like before, Clarke lies back and lets him trail after her, not catching up and getting his lips on hers until she's flat against the blankets with nowhere left to go.

One of Bellamy's arms rests by her head, bracing himself above her as his thumb strokes over her hair. His other palm slides to span her hip, and then, as he stretches out next to her, rests on her stomach. Clarke's hands aren't content to remain still, one exploring the muscles of his back as the other ghosts along the sensitive skin of his inner arms. He releases a sharp breath of laughter against her jaw, the bones moving under his lips as she smiles in response.

"Ticklish?"

Bellamy trails his fingers up her side, barely skimming the surface of her skin. She jolts when he reaches a certain spot on her ribs, gooseflesh rising when her warm skin meets the cool night.

"Don't go starting games you won't win," he murmurs, letting his teeth sink into her jaw firmly enough it makes her breath catch but not enough it'll leave any evidence.

Clarke pushes at his chest, rolling him over slowly and following until she's straddling his hips. His hands settle on the back of her lower thighs, just holding her there above the crease of her knee as she smirks down at him. Her fingers make loops across his chest, down his abdomen, until they reach the hem of his shirt.

"Who's winning now?" She asks, working the shirt up and off.

He lifts up to help her rid him of it, breathing heavily and laughing when her lips immediately latch themselves beneath his jaw. 

"This doesn't exactly feel like losing."

"As long as you remember who's in charge," she murmurs, threading her hand tightly in his hair again and tilting his head to expose more of his neck to her ministrations. 

Bellamy's hands drift up her legs, over her ass, and up under her shirt. He presses his fingers against the dimples in the small of her back, delighting when her hips stutter forward and she ruts against him.

"And who would that be?" 

He punctuates his point by biting quick and firm at the shell of her ear. Clarke moves down his chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his collar bones, his pecs, before her tongue darts out against his nipple. Bellamy's cock, already growing hard from all her previous attentions, twitches. The curve of her lips on his skin doesn't help the situation. Clarke reaches down and pops the button on his pants, her hand dangerously close to the part of him that wants to be running the show right now.

"You tell me."

Before she can grasp him in hand, he flips them over again. She laughs, breathless, and pulls him down for another kiss. He finds himself more or less kneeling over her this time, one of his legs slotted between hers so she can give herself some friction. Just the motion of it makes him groan into her, and he can't even imagine what it'll feel like when he can tell how wet she is, how eager for him.

"I know it's been a while, Princess, but you can't have forgotten we both make the rules."

He nips at her shoulder, tugging the collar aside with his teeth, and she pushes him back long enough to whip her own shirt off. And then he has to pause to take her in, spread out beneath him like something straight out of his fantasies. Her bra is a little bit old and more than a little bit worn, but her breasts are soft and perfect as they strain against the material. He can just make out a few scars in the moonlight, her ribs a bit too prominent for his liking, but her gaze is full of implicit trust and she's absolutely, unequivocally, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She slides her hands up over his knees to where his are resting, interlocking her fingers with his.

"Together."

Bellamy raises their hands above her head, lowering himself over her and doing his best not to crush her. He can feel every part of her flush against him, dropping a kiss on her forehead, then her lips, then her sternum.

"Together," he rasps, releasing her grasp and dragging his hands down her body.

One of her hands finds the back of his neck, her nails scratching lightly as he kisses his way to her breasts. He follows the edge of the bra with his lips, cresting over one, dipping into the valley between, and starting back up the side of the other. At last, he worries a mark into her skin, careful and precise, taking his time until he can't keep up with the way her chest is heaving. He slides one finger under a strap and eases it off her shoulder, letting his tongue soothe the red marks it leaves behind, reclaiming each inch of newly uncovered skin. The other comes down in the same manner until Clarke is a panting mess and the straps are lying wilted on her arms. Only then does he reach behind her to unhook it, his hand remaining underneath her to stroke over the impressions there and keep her arched up into him as he takes one of her nipples in his mouth.

In contrast with the lush skin around it, her nipples have grown peaked. The gasps it elicits when he swirls his tongue around one, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, are finer than any music he's ever heard. His hand works the other one, kneading her breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

Bellamy could play with her breasts forever. She's so responsive, so vocal, the lightest touch making her squirm, he could set up permanent camp right here and be perfectly content. Clarke, on the other hand, is growing impatient. She undoes her pants herself, thrusting her hips up into his leg so she can wiggle out of them.

"Haven't you ever heard of taking things slow?" He traps her nipple between his teeth and lashes his tongue over it, a halfhearted admonishment that makes her hips lurch again. This time, he can feel how wet she is through her tiny shorts, and it fills his head with static.

It's only for a moment, but he loses touch with reality long enough that Clarke manages to push his pants down and off without any assistance on his part.

"It's been six years," she reminds him, a tinge of desperation in her voice. "I think we've gone slow enough."

He raises his head to kiss her again, still dirty but slow enough he's hoping it will calm her a little.

"What if I wanted to savor this?"

"Savor the next round." She takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his from behind this time, and slides them both straight into her underwear. He drops his forehead to hers, trapping their arms between them, and groans.

"Fuck."

She bumps his nose with hers. "I'm trying."

The curls on her mound are soft and damp, the slickness only increasing when their fingers find her slit.

"Fuck," he says again, exhaling harshly against her lips. "If I'd known you were this hard up, I would have dragged you out to the middle of the forest hours ago."

Clarke's laugh is shaky as he props her open with two fingers, running his middle and hers together down the length of her cleft and gathering her arousal there.

"Waiting a few extra hours for a bed was worth it." She gasps as their fingers bump the side of her clit. "Not that it really would have mattered. All I've had the past six years were my own fingers and yours are - better."

"Is that right?" He kisses the junction of her jaw and ear chastely. "Tell me more about that."

"Shit, Bell. Yours are - longer, and - and rougher - " He rewards her with a more purposeful brush against her clit and she moans. "Please, I need - "

"I know, babe. I've got you." He separates their hands and settles her fingers on her clit. "Show me how you were good to yourself."

Red splotches bloom across her chest but she does as he asks, stroking and flicking her clit without further ado. He worms his way down the bed, trying to ignore the delicious friction against his dick, and kisses her hipbone.

"Good, Princess. Keep it up," he encourages, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and tugging it away. Her legs fall open wider, putting on a show for him. He repeats the motions he made earlier, following the angry red elastic marks around her thighs and on the widest part of her hips, his thumbs replacing his fingers where he holds her open. 

Clarke's hand starts moving faster, frantic, and he nudges her out of the way with his chin so he can immediately give her clit a good suck. Her moan this time is drawn out, wanton, cutting off abruptly when he gets a finger inside her at last. There's no resistance; the sound his entrance makes is almost as hot as the pretty noises falling from her lips, and he can't resist pulling all the way out so he can hear it again.

"Another," she demands.

Her thighs clamp shut on his head when he gives her what she asks for, her opening easily accommodating two fingers. He releases her clit and turns his head to bite gently at her leg.

"Gotta stay open for me, babe."

"I don't know if I can," she half-laughs, half-whimpers. Bellamy considers, then pulls back enough to hear her whine. He can't help but smile at the sound. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, don't worry. Just resituating." He crooks the two fingers inside her and she arches up in ecstasy. "Sit up, Clarke. Come here."

With gentle coaxing, he gets her over him, stretching flat on his back and tugging at her until she's directly above his face. 

"I don't see how this is going to - _Fuck._ "

Bellamy smirks into her as he licks a broad stripe up her slit, tongue teasing into her hole before settling back on her clit. His fingers resume working inside her, his other hand stopping her knee from pressing in on him. Rather than bring her legs closer together, Clarke spreads them more, rocking down against his tongue in an effort to get him closer where she wants him.

"Another. Please, Bell - "

He can't deny her, wouldn't want to, and when he slips her a third finger she rocks down on them like a reflex. Fucking herself on his fingers as much as he's fucking her, she leans back for leverage. One of her hands lands dangerously high on his thigh, his dick so hard at this point even an inadvertent touch might send him careening over the edge.

He makes his tongue flat as he can, letting her own rhythm do the work for him. Her strokes get shorter, quicker, chasing that edge. One of her hands comes up to pluck at her nipples and Bellamy can't help his intake of breath. Some combination of those two things must do it for her, because the next thing he knows, her walls are pulsating around his fingers, her orgasm slamming into her and making her keen. Her hand tightens on his leg, her walls tight around his intrusion, her clit throbbing in time under his tongue. He slips one finger out of her as she starts to come down, working her through it and only stopping when she flops off of him, onto her side and then rolling over to her front.

Bellamy climbs back up her body, brushing her hair off her face and kissing her temple, his fingers running softly across her back.

"Good?"

Clarke opens one eye and grins at him.

"You know you're fucking good at that."

"No pun intended." He leans down for a real kiss, groaning when she wiggles her ass back into his painfully hard cock.

"My turn to take care of you," she says, biting at his chin.

"If your legs work enough for that, I did something wrong," he teases. She laughs and pulls her knees up just enough to raise her hips off the bed, an offering.

"I don't need my legs for this part."

Bellamy groans and presses hot kisses to her neck, her shoulder blade, her spine.

"You sure?"

"I'm planning to try all the positions with you." She gives him a devilish smile. "We were bound to get around to this one eventually."

He laughs and runs his fingers through her hair, lipping at her earlobe. 

"I meant, are you sure you're - What do we have in the way of birth control? Am I pulling out?"

"There's a tea we can make. I just want you in me."

"You just came."

"Yeah, it's nice to be a woman." 

Bellamy divests himself of his boxer briefs and Clarke wastes no time in reaching back to give his cock a confident stroke. He has to focus on breathing through his nose, certain this will be over before it begins if she continues down this path. She gives it one last friendly tug that nearly unravels his self-control, then guides him between her legs.

His hands clench on her hips as she slicks him up with what's left of her arousal and the evidence of her last orgasm. She's hot and perfect around him, mewling when his tip bumps against her clit.

"Come on, babe." She kisses the top of his head and he realizes he's buried his face in her shoulder in an effort to keep his orgasm at bay. 

"I thought you said I could savor this round," he grunts. She smiles.

"This is still the first round."

He bats her hand away from his dick and guides it into her himself. Her hand drifts to his, fisted in the sheets, and she squeezes when he sheathes himself inside of her. It's a steady entrance, not drawn out longer than she wants but not so fast he'll lose his control. He moans as she gasps and it's as if they're passing the same air back and forth, naturally in sync the way they always have been.

Bellamy knows he won't last long but he has to know he's making this good for her too. That what's between them isn't like what he had with those girls in the first few days on the ground the first time around, not like what he thought sex was for when he'd see men come around for his mom. Not just chasing his own pleasure, losing himself in her, but ensuring it's truly an act they're carrying out _together_.

"Fuck." He gasps, reaching around with the hand not trapped under hers to find her clit.

"Yeah?" Clarke teases, her own breath hitching. He kisses the base of her neck.

"So much better than I ever imagined."

"You imagined this?"

"Not so much in the past six years," he admits, snapping his hips against hers, deeper than before. They both hiss. "It felt wrong when I thought you were dead. But - Before that?" He kisses her hair, her ear, her cheek, anything he can reach. "You would have featured prominently if we'd had much time for fantasies."

"Hang on," Clarke pants. He stills inside her, biting his lip.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just want to be facing you for this part."

Bellamy grits his teeth and pulls out of her, sitting back on his heels as his cock bobs in the air. The cold of the night is a shock to his system, and a welcome one as Clarke turns over, her breasts swaying and her strong, perfect legs parting for him again. Before he can bend down to her, she's pushing him back against the wall, rising up and sinking down on his cock, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. 

He wraps his hands around her back, both to clutch her close and to give himself leverage when he thrusts up into her. She swivels her hips, her hands cradling the back of his head so he won't hurt himself on the metal walls. He doesn't have much room to pull back and she's not lifting herself up to give him the chance, it's just one long, slow grind. He manages to wedge a hand between them, her clit grazing against his knuckles with every lap around. Her mouth drops open in pleasure, her eyes locked to his as they both rise nearer to the brink. The only thought he can formulate in his mind is her name, _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke._ He's so close, the moment right there, but he doesn't want to fall alone.

Their foreheads knock together and he lets his rest against hers. His arm flexes behind her, just enough to push her closer to his chest. Her nipples drag against his skin and that's what tips her over, the fluttering of her walls, clenching so tight around him, pulling him off the edge with her.

Her hips keep moving through her aftershocks but the rest of her body goes limp against him, both of them sticky with sweat and panting and flushed. Bellamy finds himself grinning as he smooths her hair back from her face, kissing the top of her head when she nuzzles into his chest.

"I love you," she mumbles. In the haze he's already in, with everything around him floaty and bright and wonderful, it's the only thing that could have made this moment better. He lets his eyes flutter closed.

"I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments water my crops and clear my skin and feed my soul. I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
